


to build a home

by phanatics



Series: kurodai week 2k17 [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Childhood Friends, Daichi's POV, Feelings Realization, Friends to Lovers, KuroDai Week, KuroDai Week 2017, M/M, he's there the sixth time too u fucks, its kinda sad honestly, the summary is a lie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-22 15:40:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10700013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phanatics/pseuds/phanatics
Summary: Five times Sawamura Daichi has Kuroo Tetsurou at his side, and one time he doesn't.(Day 3:childhood/adulthood)





	to build a home

**Author's Note:**

> this was meant to just be for the prompt "childhood" but then it ??? escalated ???? and here we are
> 
> tbh this could be a lot better but i really like this concept (give me childhood best friends kurodai or give me death) i just wish i had more time to work on it cause i would have loved to explore so much more of them growing up

Daichi remembers exactly when the Kuroos moved in down the street; the December just before he turns six years old, bleak and blustery in that way winters in Miyagi are known for. He presses his face to his bedroom window, peering through the bare branches of the cherry tree that stands in front of their porch as the house opposite the street bustles with movers. There’s a giant white van, men in uniform unloading furniture and cardboard boxes onto the street. There’s no sign of anyone else.

He runs downstairs and tugs at his mother’s trouser leg, asking if she knows who’s going to be living there; she looks down at him, eyes warm.

“We will soon,” she promises, and Daichi is satisfied with that.

He first hears about Tetsurou the next day when his mother comes home, shrugging off her coat and announcing that she’d met the new neighbours (they’re a family, just like them; they just moved from Tokyo; they have a son Daichi’s age; maybe they could be friends).

He first sees him a week later, sitting on his front porch across the street, clutching a volleyball to his chest with one hand as he pokes something with a stick in the other. It’s way too cold for shorts but his legs are bare, crossed over each other. There’s a bruise on his left knee. He looks peaceful. Daichi wants to say hello but a sudden wave of shyness overcomes him and he slinks downstairs, if only so he can spy on the new neighbour from ground level.

His mother catches him and promptly throws him outside, bundled up in a thick coat and two scarves, urging him to go be friendly. He crosses the street warily, cautiously, until he’s standing by the porch, awkwardly scuffing the packed dirt with the toe of his sneaker.

The boy spots him a heartbeat later and drops the stick as he looks at Daichi with mild curiosity, before disentangling his legs and scrambling down to ground level. He’s maybe an inch shorter than Daichi, with wild black hair that makes it look like he’s suffered a mild electric shock; he chirps a “Hello, I’m Tetsurou!” with a gap-toothed grin.

“Hello.” He offers a tentative, almost shy, smile in return. “My name is Daichi.”

And that’s enough for both of them to unravel.

Tetsurou is talkative. He chatters on and on, copper eyes bright with unbridled enthusiasm, and Daichi is enraptured. They become friends just like that, in the easy way that only small children seem to be able to achieve, uninhibited by the fear of rejection.

His birthday is the seventeenth of November, his favourite colour is red, he wants to be a cat when he’s older.

Daichi calls him “Tetsu” like it’s the easiest thing that’s ever rolled off his tongue.

They don’t slot together immediately. A week after they meet Tetsurou falls off the playground swing and Daichi scolds him enough that his tears dry up as he stares, open mouthed, stunned to silence. They bicker more often than not and when Tetsurou finally snaps and kicks Daichi in the shin, they don’t talk to each other for a whole three hours, pouting and glaring as their mothers try to get them to reconcile.

But they eventually find their middle ground, and only get better from there. Tetsurou coaxes Daichi out of his shell with his loud laughter and eyes sparkling with silent mirth; Daichi eases his restlessness with his serious gaze and quiet promises. They’re a mysterious dichotomy – they shouldn’t have worked. Couldn’t have worked. But they did.

They bond over volleyball and the new superhero cartoon that airs every Saturday morning at exactly 7am. Tetsurou tells Daichi all about the different sights and smells of Tokyo, the never-ending bustle of a sleepless city, and Daichi shows Tetsurou the best places to count the stars at night. He even introduces him to Snowball, the fluffy neighbourhood stray that has a soft spot for sleeping under people’s porches, because he thinks Tetsurou would like that.

(He’s right. Tetsu nearly cries from happiness and won’t leave the cat alone for the next half hour.)

Days and weeks slip into one another in each other’s company and their small, tranquil street comes alive with their laughter, the uproar bouncing off the paving stones and into the endless sky.

Their mothers smile fondly and take photos whenever they fall asleep on top of each other in the late afternoons, too exhausted by the duties and pressures of being six years old to stay awake any longer. They giggle under blanket forts as their torches shine like beacons in the dead of night and on sunnier days they find themselves traipsing through the undergrowth that borders their houses, searching for bugs and not caring about the brambles that snag at their legs as they march forward, because they have each other. Tetsurou fits into Daichi’s life so easily, like the final puzzle piece he didn’t realise he was even missing.

Three months pass, and when Tetsurou extends a pinkie and asks if they’ll be best friends, Daichi doesn’t even hesitate to link their fingers, squeezing tightly in lieu of saying it out loud.

They start elementary school that following April and Daichi forgets to be scared as he walks into their new classroom, because Tetsurou is clutching tightly to one of the straps of his backpack. They’re together. He’s fearless when they’re at each other’s sides.

 

* * *

 

They’re strictly “Sawamura” and “Kuroo” now; they’re eleven and growing up, teetering on the edge of Junior High, and therefore must act like grown-ups do.

Daichi pretends to be interested as Kuroo starts talking to him about girls. He doesn’t care like the rest of the boys in their class do, chattering in hushed tones about long hair and short skirts like it’s something shameful and lewd. His mother assures him that he’ll think differently in a few years when he brings it up in a quiet voice after dinner one day, but Daichi can’t help but feel like she’s wrong.

Kuroo starts turning up in the mornings with his tie undone and Daichi bullies him into doing it up properly despite the complaints that it makes him look less cool. Daichi takes a liking to mathematics and Kuroo calls him weird; Daichi socks him in the shoulder and tells him to shut up and do his homework. Whenever Kuroo starts getting bored and fidgety, Daichi’s always there to keep him in check.

Volleyball still remains a passion for both of them. They play with their neighbourhood’s local club, because their elementary school doesn’t have its own volleyball club and neither wants to wait until Junior High. They ride the highs of their victories and have learned that silence is the best answer to their losses, and even though their volleyball games are nothing in comparison to the Olympic matches they watch on TV, it means something to them. Every match that Daichi plays with Kuroo by his side he feels stronger, faster, better. He can stop every ball that comes his way so long as he can feel Kuroo’s presence on the court with him.

They still sleep over at each other’s houses on the weekends when they have nothing better to do, but they don’t share a bed anymore. The superhero cartoon finally stops airing, but neither of them notices because they grew out of it years ago. Daichi can’t help but wonder if they’re changing too much, but Kuroo still stops to say hello to Snowball on the way back from school whenever they pass by. He still likes the colour red. His hair is still exactly the same, thick and dark and ridiculously messy, and there are years and years of familiarity in his eyes. They still bicker over dumb things and wrestle when they’re too full of energy and Kuroo still has that annoying laugh of his where he’ll cackle so hard it brings tears to his eyes.

There's one night that weighs in Daichi's mind, one where Kuroo is sleeping over on a futon on Daichi’s bedroom floor, and a whispered “Sawamura?” drags him from his half-conscious state. He hums in response because his mouth is still weighed shut with sleep, his eyes blinking open blearily to the moonlight streaming through the curtains.

“Do you think we’ll be best friends forever?”

The question startles Daichi into full wakefulness. He pushes himself up and squints down at the vague Kuroo-shaped lump on the floor in the darkness of his room.

“What kinda question is that?”

A rustle of sheets. “I dunno. I was just thinking about it.”

Kuroo sounds vulnerable. Small. It’s strange for Daichi to hear, when Kuroo is automatically the biggest presence in any room he walks into.

“Yeah,” Daichi says. No hesitation. “We’ll be best friends forever.”

“Okay.” A pause. “That’s good.”

They don’t say anything after that.

 

* * *

 

They’re thirteen when they have their worst argument yet.

Daichi can’t identify the feelings of jealousy that writhe in his chest when the girls in their grade approach Kuroo in the corridors, giggling, with confessions rolling off their tongues, so he takes it out on Kuroo instead. It’s immature and careless, and they say a lot of things that they don’t mean, and it’s only when Daichi comes home crying does he realise that he’s made a mistake.

But Daichi’s nothing if not stubborn and he holds onto his pride like a lifeline, hoping silently that Kuroo will be the one to apologise.

The next morning, he watches from his bedroom window as Kuroo leaves for school without even glancing across the street. Daichi swallows the lump in his throat as he finishes tying his tie and goes downstairs for breakfast.

They make up three days later, when the silence becomes too much to bear. Kuroo acts indifferently but Daichi has known him too long to not notice the gleam of relief in his eyes when they finally put it past them.

He’s cautious about his words from then on, and he willingly bites down his annoyances for the sake of keeping his best friend at his side.

 

* * *

 

Being sixteen is a year of firsts.

Daichi hears the word “gay” for the first time, spat out like it’s something disgusting by the rowdier boys that collect at the back of their classroom during the lunch hour. It’s not even directed at him, but he slips down a little in his chair at the sheer aggression in that one syllable and hunches his shoulders. Their raucous laughter pounds in his ears and he pushes aside his half-eaten lunch as anxiety fills his gut.

Nobody knows. Nobody could possibly know. Not even Kuroo.

He sees his friend shoot a concerned look in his direction in his peripheral vision but he just shakes his head and excuses himself to go to the bathroom.

The secret weighs from his heart like a stone. Never has he hidden something so big, a whole other part of him, not even from Kuroo. It strains below the surface and Daichi can almost feel the burden of it pulling at him when he moves, tugging down the corners of his mouth when he thinks no one’s looking. It runs him ragged, causes dark smudges to bloom under his eyes and his hair to stick up in unruly directions after sleepless nights of anxiety and _what if_ s.

He’s tried so hard to like girls, but he can’t ignore how his eyes linger on broad shoulders and straight torsos instead of small hands and slight waists.

It scares him.

He comes out for the first time to Kuroo; it couldn’t be anyone but Kuroo. He’s spent months and months imagining the very moment, ending in the worst case scenario more often than not, so when Kuroo doesn’t recoil in disgust and disdain, he’s embarrassed to admit that he cries as Kuroo gently calls him an idiot and wraps his arms around him tighter than he has in years.

The weight lessens after that.

Being sixteen is the first time they start to seriously think about their future and Daichi becomes less and less certain that he and Kuroo are going to end up studying at the same university. Kuroo is set on playing volleyball, and he pushes harder, faster, more than anyone else on the team in the hope that next year he’ll be good enough to get scouted. He’s aiming for Tokyo. Daichi is not.

He can’t help but feel they’re running out of time – but for _what_ , exactly, he can’t define.

At sixteen they stagger back from their first party, tipsy and loose.

It’s already April but the midnight air nips at their exposed body parts; it’s not quite clear who’s holding up who but Daichi savours the warmth that radiates from Kuroo’s torso and wraps an arm tighter around his waist as they slowly stumble home.

( _Home_ , the word bounces around his beer-stained mind. He doesn’t need to go home. He’s got home right with him, drooling slightly on his shoulder as his head droops languidly from intoxication.)

He’s glad that the walk back to their street is short – the pavement is bumpy and Kuroo keeps tripping over the cracks. Something streaks across their path halfway back home and Kuroo spooks but Daichi mumbles that it’s only Snowball and half-heartedly pats him on the arm in consolation.

Kuroo hums contentedly, the tension leaking from his muscles. “I...love Snowball.”

Daichi laughs. It’s not even funny.

They stagger past the patch of cement with bike tracks permanently marked into it from when they were ten years old and full of rebellion. The tree on the corner with the broken tyre swing. The overgrown path that verges off the pavement and leads into the heart of the surrounding undergrowth, beaten into existence by years of them running up and down it.

It seems like everything carries the imprints of Daichi and Kuroo, Kuroo and Daichi, the two of them against the world.

The cherry tree outside Daichi’s house is coming into bloom, and the soft outlines of the petals blur against the navy sky, waving gently. It’s the eleventh time that the petals have bloomed since Kuroo moved in across the street

Daichi waits patiently when they reach Kuroo’s house as the taller fumbles for his keys, turning his face to the sky and letting the cool air play across his too-warm cheeks while the sound of the opening lock cuts through the silence of the night.

He feels a weight drape itself across his shoulders from behind and he can’t help the soft laugh that tumbles from his mouth as he turns to look behind him, swaying slightly. “Go t’ bed, Tetsu.”

Kuroo’s eyes are lidded and hazy and a lazy smile stretches across his face. It’s different to the cool smirk he tends to sport, and he looks soft, sleepy. Kuroo makes a noise in the back of his throat, leaning forward.

“G’nigh’” he slurs, nudging Daichi’s temple with his forehead. His warm breath fans across his cheek.

Kuroo presses a sloppy kiss against the corner of Daichi’s mouth before half-falling through his own front door. Daichi crosses the street with all the grace of a bulldozer and struggles with his keys when he tries to unlock the door; his hands are trembling. He crashes on the couch in the living room, because his bedroom seems so far away when the stairs are swimming in the weak moonlight.

Neither of them remembers in the morning.

 

* * *

 

They’re freshly eighteen and the loss of Spring High sits on their shoulders with all the weight of the world. The final smack of the ball on the court rings through Daichi’s ears as the team lines up, sweat cooling on the backs of their necks, and shake hands with the victors.

He clenches his jaw, and it’s another of those moments where he wishes Kuroo had been elected captain instead of him. Maybe the loss would sting less that way. The bold number one on his jersey taunts him as he looks down at his shoes and wills the tears not to fall. He tells himself he can cry later, when he’s alone, because Kuroo is gripping his shoulder hard enough to hurt and it’s enough to bring him back down from his thoughts.

They meet each other’s eyes. Captain and vice-captain; numbers 1 and 2. There was never any doubt that they would be the ones to lead the team in their final year – they understand each other better than anyone. They’re seamless; they know each other too well. One look and Daichi can see right into Kuroo’s mind. He knows what he’s thinking just from a shift in his stance, a twist of his fingers, the tap of his foot. They’d been so close; almost there (but almost isn’t good enough).

The atmosphere is subdued as they pile onto the bus, back to school, away from the excitement of the crowds and the adrenaline of the match. Daichi slumps down, boneless, next to Kuroo after he’s sure they’ve left no one behind. The bus rumbles to life and Daichi lets his head fall onto Kuroo’s shoulder with a frustrated groan. His nose is pressed to his shoulder and he reeks of sweat, but even that is a comfort in this moment because it’s _Kuroo_.

“Well done, Captain,” Kuroo mumbles into the top of his head.

Daichi scowls into the fabric of his jersey. “We lost.” He can feel tears building up again and he sniffs angrily.

Kuroo hums thoughtfully. “That’s true. But you fought well. We all did.”

“Not well enough.” Daichi receives an elbow to the gut and he lifts his head again, disgruntled.

“It doesn’t matter that we lost.” Kuroo’s gaze is serious. “I’m just glad I got to play with you one more time before we...” He hesitates.

“Go our separate ways,” Daichi finishes for him. The words taste like iron on his tongue. They hadn’t talked at length about what was to come. Kuroo was offered a volleyball scholarship at a prestigious Tokyo university; Daichi decided to stay in Miyagi, going for a business degree at one of the local schools. It still doesn’t feel like it’s actually happening. They fall into silence as the bus rumbles to life and pulls away.

They arrive back at the school four hours later when the sun is bleeding into the horizon and the shadows are long. Daichi stays behind to sort out some last minute admin as captain and to lock up the gymnasium for the final time. Kuroo doesn’t walk home with him that day.

He feels like it’s the beginning of the end.

Kuroo leaves for Tokyo a few days after. There’s no fanfare. Daichi helps him load boxes of his things into his dad’s car, but there's barely anything to pack, and he finds himself standing idle as he watches Kuroo shove the last box into the back seat.

Kuroo leans against the side of the car with a heavy sigh, hands in his pockets. Daichi stands on the pavement, between Kuroo's house and Kuroo's car, and crosses his arms, fingers twitching nervously against his biceps.

Blossoms flutter down onto the street. Daichi speaks first.

“Tetsu.”

Kuroo’s smile is wobbly. “You haven’t called me that in ten years.”

He doesn't know what to say. There aren't any words that seem right.

“Remember when we said we’d be best friends forever?” Kuroo asks suddenly. Daichi smiles wanly. How could he forget? He has that night committed to memory.

“Forever doesn’t mean a thing when you’re eleven years old,” he chokes out.

He chances a look at Kuroo's face. He looks sad - there's sorrow etched into the corners of his eyes, in the crease of his brow, but he's still smiling, as if he knew after all these years that this moment would be coming.

"Well, Sawamura-"

Daichi interrupts. "You don't have to call me Sawamura. You can call me Daichi."

“Yeah, okay.” Kuroo grins at him. Easy. Familiar. “Thanks, Daichi.”

They don’t hug. Kuroo just shoots him a half-hearted finger gun, gets in the car, and drives off. It's over just like that.

Daichi stands on the pavement as the minutes tick by, staring up at the house that he didn't grow up in, but feels like he did. He's made just as many memories within the four walls of the Kuroos' family home as in his own house, and already it feels empty without the presence of Tetsurou; charming, compassionate, ambitious, wonderful Tetsurou, who makes himself known just by existing.

It’s in that moment that Daichi realizes he’s in love with him. He’s been in love with him for years. He just never realized. It makes his chest tight as he stares blankly at the spot where the car had been parked not even five minutes ago.

He doesn’t sleep that night.

 

* * *

 

Sawamura Daichi is twenty six years old and he wears a tie to work every day. He has a small apartment just off the centre off Tokyo, and even after three years it doesn’t quite feel like home. It gets too cold at night and his upstairs neighbour seems to cherish a liking for mid-week parties. He works at a small business firm, and the salary’s good enough, but it still feels like there’s something missing. He’s just another nameless face in a bustling city and the thought doesn’t sit right in his chest.

He thinks about Kuroo more often than he likes to admit. When he looks out his bedroom window late at night, the light streaming from the endless rows of skyscraper windows makes sporadic patterns in the concrete towers; his own urban constellations. He can’t see the stars anymore, so it’s the best he can do, and he wonders if Kuroo ever finds himself searching the sky for specks of light that aren’t there too.

He doesn’t know what happened to Kuroo after he graduated – if he even did graduate. They lost contact sometime before the age of 20, when the distance between them was more than just the miles from Miyagi and Tokyo. They’d tried – God, they’d _tried_. But their conversations were always strained, weighed down with the things they stopped telling each other, and soon enough Daichi couldn’t seem to visualise the gleam in Kuroo’s eye that he used to know like the back of his hand.

Daichi doesn’t know what he expected from Tokyo, but he didn’t think it would feel so hollow.

He’s lonely. He takes the train back to Miyagi for Christmas that year; he hasn’t seen his parents in a while either.

The snow has already fallen – it’s early this year, and mostly undisturbed, settled like a blanket over the roofs of the houses as Daichi walks home from the train station, his feet moving in the right direction without even having to think about it. The silence is a welcome break after the constant sounds of the big city. He turns into his old street and the first thing he notices is that there’s a light on in the house opposite his own, a beacon in the dusky December twilight and hope, far-fetched hope, flutters at the very back of Daichi’s mind. He pushes it away. He climbs his own porch instead and his parents greet him with warm enthusiasm and he admits that it’s nice to not have to worry about a meal for a night.

He tells his parents about his job, about Tokyo. They ask if he's seeing anyone and if his laugh is a little strained, they don't pick up on it. His mother ushers him to bed when his previously-stifled yawns get wider and more frequent. He complains that he’s an adult now and she snipes that when he’s under her roof, she’s still the one in charge. He doesn’t protest after that and slumps upstairs to his bedroom.

He flicks on the light switch and stands in the doorway, surveying the sanctuary of his childhood. Everything is almost exactly as he left it, just with an extra layer of dust. There’s still volleyball posters taped to the walls, now drooping after years of neglect. Clothes piled in his closet that he never took to college, and never thought about him. Old textbooks, papers, birthday cards from all different ages; he lazily rifles through them and marvels at how much he's horded over the years. He picks his way through his room carefully, feeling like he doesn't quite belong here anymore.

He stands in front of his window and steels himself before glancing across the street. He and Kuroo had quickly discovered that with both of their bedrooms at the front of their houses, it was effortlessly easy to see each other from across the street. He looks now, and there's a light on in the window downstairs, but the room directly across from him is dark. He bites back bitter disappointment, mentally scolds himself for hoping. For wanting. He reaches up to close the curtains.

A flicker of light in his peripheral vision stops him. He frowns, turns. Feels his heart stutter in his chest as he sees the figure standing in Kuroo's old bedroom, backlit by artificial lighting. They stare at each other for a second, for an eternity, before the silhouette inclines his head towards the street below, and Daichi understands exactly what he's asking. He nods, once, resolute, and slips out of his bedroom without looking back.

He sneaks through his front door, careful not to alert his parents, and the crunch of snow under his shoes seems to echo too loudly in the silence of the street. He’s scared to even breathe as the door opposite swings open, and Kuroo steps across the threshold. 

There's eight years of distance between them but that doesn't matter when all Daichi knows is instinct, and instinct is forcing his legs forward, determined strides across the snowy road. Kuroo mirrors him, jogging down his porch steps, wind blowing the lapels of his jacket open. 

They collide too hard, too fast, and Daichi loses his footing, grabbing hold of Kuroo’s shirt collar to drag him down to the ground with him as he falls. The air is knocked from his lungs and he wheezes in protest when Kuroo accidentally elbows him in the stomach as he scrabbles to get up.

He clamps a hand down on Kuroo’s arm and he stops moving. Their eyes meet and they don’t speak. Don’t need to speak. They’ve always been better at talking without words.

Kuroo’s eyes are bright, wild. His hair is shorter at the back and sides, but he’s kept the ridiculous fringe and it flops forward as he hovers over Daichi, cheeks already flushed from the cold. His face is more filled out now and there’s stubble on his jaw. Daichi doesn’t stop himself from reaching out and running the pad of his finger along the bottom of Kuroo’s cheek, lips quirking at the prickly texture. Daichi drinks him in like he’s been lost in the desert for the last year and he's just found the only source of water left.

“Hey.” Kuroo's voice is rougher too, but there’s no mistaking the teasing lilt that dances just below the surface. “You look like a dad.”

Kuroo’s voice is too full of affection for the insult to have any meaning.

“Hello to you, too.”

“I missed you.”

“Yeah.” Daichi is smiling too much to really come up with a better reply and Kuroo lets out a single laugh, bright and brilliant as always.

They’re grinning like idiots, sprawled in the middle of the road with melting snow seeping into their clothes, and they bump noses as Kuroo finally leans down to brush their lips together. It’s a terrible kiss (their teeth clack and Daichi’s pretty sure he’s drooling) so Daichi pulls Kuroo back in for another, and another, until they get it perfect, and then one more just to make sure. He pours out his soul with every exhale, every pressure point, and Kuroo knows. Kuroo understands. After everything they’ve been through, it would be difficult for him not to. It’s cathartic and exhilarating and intoxicating because they’re here, twenty years later, right back where they started, shivering from the cold, and Daichi finally understands what _home_ means.

**Author's Note:**

> the most inaccurate thing about this is how the fuck Snowball stayed alive for 10+ years when stray cats tend to only live 4-5 years on average
> 
> (comments fuel me xoxoxoxoxo)


End file.
